Hands
by droidgirl
Summary: Because the Doctor makes mistakes - like leaving his beloved, the one he pined for and lost women over - with another man who may or may not become psychotic. Oh. Spoilers for Journey's End.


It's not like you can kill yourself; not when someone would notice anyway.

That's what you thought when you caught sight of _him_. Your mind jumped two steps ahead as usual, but your heart was and is (and will be) a slow child. The happiness, the joy you felt when you caught sight of that golden head what seemed only like seconds ago leaked out slowly, leaving only the cold clutch of dread against your heart.

You considered in a millisecond, what it would be like if you could keep them all by your side. Well not _all_. Donna wasn't going to last, much as you want her to. Where were you going to find another best mate who was so bloody shrill? No, it would be just Rose, Rose Rose Rose...and him. The three of you could have been quite a team to be sure, and Rose probably wouldn't have minded having two of you around. Much. You'd be a strange little family travelling forever.

Forever. How many times you have fantasized on those lonely hours about what you could do with Rose and the Chameleon Arch – with her permission of course. Or what you could do with yourself, for her sake; you found since the whole fiasco with the Master, that maybe you _have _wandered too long. Maybe it's time you settled, shared a mortgage.

Then in your mind's eye, you saw the bloodlust that he had inherited through no fault of his own taking over. You saw the chaos spinning between his hands that are so similar...no, they _are_ your hands...using _your_ ship, because after all, who knows the TARDIS better than _you?_

And it's not like you can kill yourself; not when someone would notice anyway.

You realized that the universe was just being a bitch. Again. You won't get to keep her. Or rather you will, but not this body. Because

"He needs you. That's very me."

* * *

You told her that on that thrice damned beach, and you know she's no idiot. You hate yourself, because now she thinks you're a coward for not taking her with you. For not even trying. You know she _must_ have thought so, the moment _he_ uttered the words you were too afraid to say. And how _presumptuous_ she must have realized you were, simply assuming that she'd take him in because _you_ said so.

You can't help but feel that maybe she's right.

Now you wish you did kill _him_.

_It wouldn't have been suicide, just murder_, a sane part of you whispers. The disgust at your own desires is no worse than knowing he's touching her, probably right now. The anger burns within you, at the thought that he has the woman he did not earn. The anger burns hotter, when you know you're the one who let him have her, literally shoving him into her arms that were open for _you_ and only _you_.

_Of course, if you did kill him_, the sane voice keeps going inside your head_, she'd never look at you as anything more than a murderer – which is what she has tried so hard to look past_.

At least _he_ has less blood on _his_ hands.

You look at your own fingers, and for a moment, you indulge yourself in the memory of how it had felt when she clasped them in her's.

Your hands that you bring to your face, as you realize in a kind of dawning horror, that maybe you could have stopped fearing life so much and just lived it. That you've let all your insecurities, your caution, your _pride_ because you assumed (as you always assumed that you "know better") get in the way of trying to find a life with Rose.

That really, you left her on that beach with _him_, because you couldn't grow up and _deal; _instead you let her deal, because that's what you've done since the moment you met her.

She did deserve a man who was brave enough to let her know where his weakness was – her. And she knew it, because she favoured _him_ with her kiss.

The impact of your actions sinks you to the floor. Now you _know_ you've lost the only person who had believed in you so completely, who was so devoted she punched her way through the walls of the universe. You lost her through no one's fault but your own.

Time Lord aside, you really are a commitment phobic, over dramatic, Class-A fuckwit.

You look at the console...

And you wonder, that if the universe did not collapse, how much grovelling it would take.

Your hands began to reach for the controls.

Because you realize, no matter how much dirt you're going to kiss when you beg her to come home with you, it's going to be worth it.

You need her, and _he_ could go hang, because _he's_ not you, and again, you wonder at your stupidity, leaving her with a man who you yourself claimed to have potentially psychotic tendencies and a genius brain.

_Good one Doctor_, you think.

And open the doors again.


End file.
